Duplicity
by Wren Jones
Summary: Cecilia is living her dream, married to the love of her life with three wonderful children. Yet, something is out of place, she can feel it. Haunted with nightmares about a heartbroken Arthur sitting by what seems to be her deathbed, will she be able to figure it out before it is too late?
1. Chapter 1

Cecilia's eyes widened at the scene playing out in front of her. Everything around her seemed to slow down and dull as adrenaline pulsed throughout her veins. The shooter's face was covered, as was the face of the woman he was about to murder. Cecilia barely heard the screams around her, pulling away from the hand that was holding her back. She had no idea how she managed to get in front of the gunman in time.

"Cecilia!" Arthur yelled. This couldn't be happening, no, it wasn't real... Matthew and Alfred were the first to start moving, the latter tackling the masked man. Sirens blared, snapping the Englishman out of his daze. His feet pounded the pavement, and his knees grazed the ground next to the bleeding Frenchwoman. How could she still manage to smile?

A strange sensation pooled in Cecilia's abdomen. Matthew and Arthur spoke to her frantically in an odd mixture of French and English. The blonde woman grinned at the looks on their faces, almost laughing at how the edges started to blur... Why did they look so distraught? She was fine... The bullet missed, right? It must've... But then, why couldn't she move? That's what didn't make sense. A warm pair of hands cupped her face, and an urgent slew of words washed over her. The temperature around her seemed to flash from burning hot to ice cold, and the last thing she focused on was a hysterical pair of green eyes.

* * *

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello! Here is the real start to this story. It is a FACE family fic with Peter thrown into the mix. Names are pretty much the same, the only difference is France as Cecilia. I'd say that it is very OOC in the beginning, and it is key to the story. Enjoy!_

* * *

Cecilia let out a startled, slightly strangled gasp, sitting bolt upright in her bed, the collar of her nightgown and the hair around her neck soaked in sweat from the nightmare. Arthur gave a small grunt at the disturbance, not fully waking. Cecilia sighed, feeling a bit guilty that she was going to pull her husband from a peaceful slumber for the first time in months.

_At least it's not Peter this time,_ Cecilia thought as she started to shake Arthur's shoulder, knocking on the wooden bedside table to keep from jinxing herself and praying that the small six year old boy would not wake up again. She held back a laugh as Arthur groaned and covered his face with her pillow, turning over and wrapping himself up in the blankets during the process.

"M' alarm hasn't gone off yet," Arthur mumbled from his cocoon. Cecilia giggled, wrestling the pillow out of Arthur's grasp and hitting him with it lightly.

_"Arthur,"_ Cecilia whined, poking said man in the neck and finally succeeding in waking him.

A sleep-blurred, kelly green eye peered at her, blinking to get used to the moonlight flooding into their room. "Peter have another nightmare?" Arthur asked sluggishly, the Cockney burr in his voice thick.

"No, I had a bad dream," Cecilia admitted sheepishly, a slight pink tinge painting her cheeks. "I got scared."

"So, you wanna cuddle, then?" Arthur smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. Cecilia nodded, worming her way through the tangled comforter and into her husband's arms. "I bed you'll have forgotten all about it when you wake up."

_Wake up._

"Artie, did you say something?"

"No."

_Come on, Perine, wake up._ No. No, that wasn't right. Perine wasn't her name anymore.

_I'm hearing things,_ Cecilia thought dully, wrapping one arm around Arthur's neck and the other around his waist. She clutched him tighter until her chin rested on her shoulder and she could feel his steady heartbeat against her erratic one. His breath was warm on the nape of her neck.

Whispers only Cecilia could hear filled up the room, overlapping and weaving together until they were indistinguishable to the point where only separate languages and voices could be made out. It was mostly French and English, but snippets of Russian, Spanish, and German wound their way through as well. The voices sounded familiar, and, one by one, she thought she was able to tell who they belonged to. The voices in English and French were the easiest, as they most certainly belonged to Arthur and the two oldest of her three sons. Mathieu's soft tenor voice was the only identifiable French, although he was speaking the strange-sounding adaptation of Quebecers, which he had somehow managed to learn from a single year in Canada. Arthur and Alfred's voices were sharp in their contrast. Cecilia never understood how her little Alfie came out with an American accent, of all things. The Russian, Spanish, and German were obviously three of her coffee shop's regulars. The three men came in almost every day, each at different times.

Cecilia lay awake for the rest of the night, unable to sleep with the mutters all around her like rustling leaves in the wind. Arthur mumbled something in his sleep, bending his head until his lips almost touched Cecilia's neck.


End file.
